Page 36 of Salvaged By the Alien Pirate

“Organic?” I move closer, studying the patterns flowing across her display. The bond-sickness flares at her proximity,making my tribal markings pulse with barely contained heat. “What do you mean?”

“The system’s learning from my intrusion attempts,” she explains, her fingers flying across the interface. “Adapting in real-time. It’s like... like someone took my own code and evolved it into something new.” Her voice catches slightly. “Something dangerous.”

“Wait.” Neon’s voice turns sharp, her enhanced eyes widening as recognition hits. “These modifications... I know this coding style.” Her fingers freeze over the interface, implants pulsing erratically. “Only one person could have twisted my protocols like this.”

“Kira,” I growl, the name sending a fresh wave of protective fury through me. My wings mantle instinctively despite the fever burning beneath my skin. The bond-sickness flares hot at the sight of Neon’s distress, primal instincts screaming to eliminate the threat to my mate.

The technical brilliance needed to corrupt Neon’s work is beyond my comprehension, but I understand threats. And seeing Kira’s signature in these systems, knowing she’s been here, watching, waiting... it makes my blood boil despite the fever already consuming me.

“Fall back,” I order, already reaching for my plasma blade. “If Kira’s involved—”

“Too late,” Neon cuts in, her enhanced eyes widening as new data streams across her vision. “Multiple contacts. They’re already inside.”

The words barely leave her lips before the facility’s emergency protocols engage. Blast doors slam shut with pneumatic force, sealing us in the main cargo hold. Emergency lights strobe red, casting twisted shadows across empty storage containers and abandoned equipment. The bond-sickness roars through my veins, but the primal need to protect my mate burns even hotter.

“Get behind me,” I growl, wings mantling despite the agony that tears through them. My enhanced senses strain against the fever, cataloging every shadow, every potential threat. The cargo hold suddenly feels like a cage, and Neon is trapped here. Because of me.

Emergency lights strobe in a pattern that makes my tribal markings pulse in response, each flash illuminating another corner where death might lurk. The recycled air carries traces of weapon oil and modified armor—distinctive scents that set my predatory instincts on high alert. Someone’s here, watching, waiting. And they’re between us and freedom.

“We’re surrounded,” I murmur, low enough that only Neon can hear. My wings quiver with the effort of staying extended, but I’d rather collapse than leave her exposed. “At least three hostiles, maybe more.”

The bond-sickness might be burning me alive from the inside, but I’ve never felt more focused. Every cell in my body screams to protect her, to eliminate any threat to my mate. Even if it kills me.

Then I smell it—the faint, metallic tang of modified combat armor. The subtle whir of enhanced servos. The nearly silent footsteps of soldiers trained to move like ghosts.

“Contact,” I growl, my wings snapping wide despite the pain that tears through them. “Three o’clock high.”

The first plasma bolt screams through the air before I finish speaking. I twist, wings creating a living shield between the attack and Neon. The shot impacts my armor, sending waves of agony through my fever-wracked body. But the bond-sickness transforms the pain into something else—raw energy fueled by the desperate need to protect my mate.

Three Eclipse soldiers emerge from the shadows, their modified armor gleaming with an unnatural sheen. They move with inhuman grace, servos whirring as augmented musclespropel them forward. Standard Eclipse troops don’t move like this. These are something else. Something new.

“Captain!” Zara’s warning comes just as my vision blurs, the bond-sickness striking at the worst possible moment. I stagger, wings trembling as another wave of fever hits. The closest soldier sees my weakness and lunges, plasmablade humming with lethal intent.

The battle dissolves into controlled chaos. Zara and Grig engage the remaining soldiers while Neon covers my momentary weakness. My vision swims, tribal markings burning bright enough to cast crimson shadows across the metal walls. Every movement costs more than it should, the bond-sickness turning simple maneuvers into exercises in pure willpower.

But there’s something wrong about this fight. The soldiers aren’t pressing their advantage, aren’t using tactics that could easily overwhelm us. Instead, they’re... testing. Probing. Like they’re gathering data rather than trying to kill us.

“They’re scanning us,” Neon confirms through gritted teeth as she parries another strike. “Combat analysis protocols. Everything we do, every move we make—they’re sending it somewhere.”

The last soldier falls, their modified armor crackling with residual energy. But before I can warn the others, the fallen soldier’s neural implants pulse with a final transmission. Data streaming outward, carrying everything they learned about our fighting styles, our weaknesses, our patterns.

The cargo bay doors hiss open, flooding the space with harsh light from the corridor. A tactical team sweeps in, weapons raised but not yet targeting. A woman strides through their formation, her expression grim as she surveys the fallen Eclipse soldiers.

“Sophisticated combat analysis systems,” she observes, crouching to examine one of the modified bodies. “The Eclipse isevolving their methods. These aren’t standard troops anymore.” Her piercing blue eyes lift to meet mine. “Though I suspect you’ve already figured that out, Captain Thar’Kal.”

I spin toward the sound, wings flaring despite the agony that tears through them. A figure emerges from the shadows, her tactical team spreading out behind her with practiced efficiency.

“Well, well,” a familiar voice cuts through the darkness, precise and cold as a blade. “The infamous Captain Thar’Kal and his crew.”

I recognize that voice—Officer Neve McCoy, the Planetary Police investigator who exposed Kyor’s corruption. Her reputation for relentless pursuit of justice is matched only by her uncanny ability to appear at the most inopportune moments. The last time our paths crossed, she was building the case against Kyor’s luminore smuggling operation. She let me go then, acknowledging that some forms of piracy serve a greater good. But her presence here now can’t be coincidence.

“And...” McCoy pauses, her sharp gaze locking onto me with unmistakable recognition. “Lyra Arden. Last time I saw you, you were disappearing into the maintenance shafts of Orion Outpost. Right after that interesting data breach in the STI’s secure servers.”

I stiffen beside her, my wings twitching as if ready to shield her from a threat. My eyes narrow, the possessiveness unmistakable. “Lyra—?”

“Not now,” Neon cuts in sharply, shooting me a warning glance before turning back to McCoy. “I go by Neon Valkyrie these days. And I doubt you tracked me across half the sector just to reminisce.”

Lyra Arden.My wings shift restlessly at the revelation of her true name, a piece of herself she’s kept hidden even from me. The bond-sickness burns hotter in my veins as I study her profile, noting the slight tension in her jaw, the way herenhanced eyes flicker with barely contained anxiety. She guards her secrets like a dragon hoards treasure, each one a wall built from past pain and betrayal. But I’ve earned the right to know this truth, to understand the woman behind the hacker’s mask she shows the world. Later, when we’re alone, I’ll have words with my mate about this.

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